Shades of Grey
by Sorceress Eiva
Summary: Umineko. The intermission between Episodes 2 and 3. He isn't dead or alive; she is neither in or out of control. This is just how she behaves off the gameboard, and he plays along as though his life doesn't depend on it. Because really, it doesn't.


A/N: I've been so inactive on here for such a long time, and I return not to continue with something I promised myself I would continue with, but with a small drabble that took me completely by surprise. Yes, I am now deeply in the Umineko fandom and I quite enjoy it here - don't know how often this writing of fics will occur, but I am not going to commit myself to anything long-term again. No sir, I'll stick with small things when I feel like it.

* * *

I can... smell it.

There is complete silence asides from my harsh, ragged breathing and the drip, drip, drip of blood on the floor, but I imagine I can hear the smoke fingering its way through the air, pulling itself towards me. I can almost feel the strangely fragrant fumes caressing my cheeks and tickling my skin, and I want to blow it away. It has no place against any part of my body let alone inside it, and yet I draw in breath after uneven breath. It curls within my lungs and dances through my body, and I want nothing more than to expel it from me.

But I can't.

The silence continues. I remain in the - rather uncomfortable, I note - position, moving only to breathe, and can do nothing but listen. My eyes are shut. I don't want to see where I am; don't want to know anything of this strange world, refusing its very existance even as I sit here in it, but I can still hear. A thick breath of air in -_ silence drip drip pause drip_ - another breath out. It repeats for a long moment, one which seems like it might drag on ad infinitum. I am seized with the temptation to force my eyes open and see what awaits me, but I resist. Ignorance is, after all, bliss. I have no idea how long I've been sitting on the floor with my eyes closed, splayed out in this ungainly position that leaves me greatly disadvantaged. One hand rests somewhere on my leg, and the other is thrown out against the floor; my back is pressed against a wall, but I've slid down it and am no longer propped up like a doll. I don't need to be anyone else to tell you that I look pathetic.

Another noise breaks through the silence and I stiffen as much as I can, knowing that it will do precious nothing to protect me. It is the rustle of fabric, and it happens only briefly before the all-consuming nothingness envelopes me again. I relax. She is merely moving position, probably uncrossing her legs. She dislikes staying still for too long. I am gripped once more with the thought of movement, and this time I think it might be a good idea. If I remain still for too long she might decide that I am boring her, and demand her damned servants to play with me some more. No doubt that will end up happening regardless of my actions, but I would rather stave off the inevitable for as long as possible. I take in yet another shaky breath and prepare myself for movement.

Nothing happens. I'm not sure why not; perhaps I've been played with one too many times again and it's physically impossible for me to move. Maybe I just can't work up enough willpower to move and I'm paralysed with fear, however horribly cliched that explanation might be. I try again, and one of my fingers twitch. Fabric rustles again, this time accompanied with the creak of a chair. The air has changed, and I think that maybe she's leant forward to watch me closer. The smoke from her pipe continues to waft through the air and curl its way around my face. Again, once more, I try to move, and I can succeed no more than making my fingers twitch a little more enthusiastically than before.  
"Is that all you can do?"

Her voice cuts through the atmosphere. Usually she speaks with a tone so sharp, so strong, that it could pass through a diamond unscathed before cutting through bone and wounding me, but not now. Her voice is lowered, and sounds dull. It is as though she is bored with me, and I pray that's the case.  
"Well? Battler?"  
I remain silent. I don't trust myself to speak at the moment. I can't even move, and breathing is close to painful, so why should I respond? It's not like I'd be able to get anywhere with it. If I talk back she'll take whatever I say and paint it thickly with her lies. But maybe, just maybe, I should show some kind of response - once again, putting off the inevitable is the best thing for me to do right now. I gather up a little motivation and gingerly crack open my eyelids, squinting at the sudden light that seeps into my head. There is silence once more as she waits for me to regain the sense of sight, and the exotic fragrance permeates my small world.

I cannot dispute that she is a beautiful woman. Her looks must have captivated grandfather and ensnared him before she turned her so-called magic on him; even I can't deny that her beauty transcends that which most women possess. From my collapsed state on the floor, I stare up at her and find myself pierced by her unwavering gaze. She stares unblinkingly at me, blue eyes never shifting from my much darker ones to survey the wreck that is my body. She is beautiful, but nothing about her attracts me. Under her youthful face - the rosy, slightly plump cheeks; the high brow and cheekbones; the perfectly quaffed curls and strands of blonde hair that frame her loveliness - I see the form of something sinister and ugly. It might be that I'm seeing this only because I know her cruelty, but under the figure that has so haunted the foyer of Rokkenjima for so long I can see a wrinkled face twisted with malice and anger. Time stretches between us as we stare at each other, saying nothing. Eventually, slowly, she leans back in her chair and rests her chin upon her fist, surveying me continually. I glare back up at her, trying to express my hatred for her through my eyes alone, but she coolly disregards it with her almost bored expression. For a minute the hag that she really is disappears from my vision of her and I see only a queen sitting on her throne, and my broken body at her toes.

"What's wrong, Battler? Is that seriously the most you can do?"  
She crosses her legs again, and her free hand slips onto her lap. She continues to stare at me, and I continue to stare back. There is nothing else I can do.  
"You're pathetic. All humans are. You subject yourself to stupid tortures that aren't even interesting, and you delude yourselves into thinking that you can carry on your pathetic lives afterwards."  
She drums her fingers against her lap and her brows slowly begin to knit together. I can see the hag again in the wrinkles that appear just above the bridge of her nose.  
"And you, of all of them, have to be the worst. Not only are you stupid, but you don't believe in me or magic, even when I'm sitting right here in front of you. Even when I'm talking to you after calling my furniture to break your body over and over, you still don't believe in witches?"

She barks out a single laugh, entirely different from the usual disgusting, inelegant cackle she performs whenever she feels in total control - which is all too often. She rises suddenly, her dress sweeping the floor heavily, and her hands curled in fists. She crosses what little space there is separating us and fear sparks inside me suddenly, twitching my hands again. It only takes a moment before I am staring into her face from only an inch or two away, and I can see the anger and madness crackling inside her head. She grabs the lapel of my jacket and pulls me towards her with surprising strength. The drip, drip, dripping continues and sounds louder in the silence that she holds me up in. I wheeze, agony ripping through my body once more. I can feel the wetness on my back that is my blood slowly oozing out onto the floor behind me, and each drop reminds me that I am horribly fragile. She slams me back against the wall before pulling me back to her again, that horrible expression still on her face.  
"Even when I grab you like this and hurt you, you still don't believe? How about now, Battler? How about now?"  
She repeats the action over and over. I feel like I'm spinning through the air; it's not possible that I can take this for much longer. She stops and allows me a second to regain my breath, however painful it might be, and she knows it hurts. She revels in it. When I stare back at her, a chill seeps through my body that has nothing to do with blood loss. Her eyes widen with what can only be described as insanity and she smiles. On anyone else it might have been a very becoming smile, but no. Not on her.  
"Well? Battleeeeeeer?"  
I hate it when she draggs my name out like that, and I'm positive she knows it. Her voice was low, as it always was, but she no longer sounded bored. She slammed me once more against the wall before letting me go and fall back against the wall. She stood and walked back to her chair, snapping her fingers to summon one of her servants. It was one of the girls that I was becoming more and more used to seeing: the one with long black hair and the constantly malicious expression. The witch said something and then there was nothing but agony - I knew that I was losing more blood and that the front of my jacket would be stained with gore. The ass sisters really were a pain. I felt blackness surround me and wanted nothing more than to give in to it, to slip into its calm, soothing embrace.

I was allowed to die for the briefest of moments before being pulled back into the world. There it was: her laugh, ringing through the room. The girl-turned-stake-turned-girl stood by her side, a smirk on her face. I pushed myself up against the wall, able to move again now I had been revived.  
"-are pathetic," she was laughing to herself. "Can't even stay alive, can't even resist the pain. What's the matter, Battleeer, aren't you strong enough? Are humans weaker than witches after all?"  
Her speech devolved into laughter once more and anything else she might have tried to taunt me with was lost in giggles. The dark haired girl by her side smiled at me, but there was no love in the expression. Her eyes, inhumanly red, twinkled mischeviously with a look that stated that she wanted to pierce me over and over, and I glared back at her with the same lack of adoration.  
"What's your point?" I ask, smoothing the front of my clothes down calmly. "You say that witches exist, but how are you going to prove that? This isn't the game board. This doesn't count."  
She laughs harder. "It doesn't count? I guess not." She regains her composure surprisingly quickly, and straightens, staring me directly in the face. "And yet, there is something so sweet in breaking you over and over. Don't you think so?"  
"Don't make me laugh. Break me down? As if you could do that. Not even the seven ass sisters could, no matter how much they try. I'm still here, aren't I?"  
"Because of magic!" she half-shrieked at me, and once again, I see the ugly. "With my Endless magic I revive you constantly! If it wasn't for me, you would still be lying on the floor with holes in your body and your brains dripping out of your head onto the floor, dirtying this room with your_ filthy_ human blood, sullying this place with your _pathetic human blood_!" She laughs again, but there is less joy in it. It's simply a way for her to tell her how much she despises me, and I'm fine with that. I remain standing where I am, my face impass as I listen to her rave and rant. To our side, her little servant girl winces, as though her master's insanity is painful to listen to. I feel no sympathy for her. "_Well, Battleeeeeeeer_?"

Her words are screamed at me and the smile is gone from her face entirely. I place one hand in my trouser pocket and shrug, knowing it'll only infuriate her further.  
"If you want to start the next game, then go ahead. Otherwise, keep your weird murders to yourself and cool your head off. While you're busy calming down, I'll play with your little girls, the bitches that enjoy playing with me so much."  
The black haired girl frowns deeply at my words, but her anger is quickly replaced with yet another sadistic smile. I'm getting sick of seeing the same expression everywhere, to be honest. "If you want me to play with you then all you have to do is say. You want to be ripped into pieces again? All the better for us."  
Another cackle resounds around the room and the witch snaps her fingers. Her laugh is quickly taken up by girls that weren't standing in their positions seconds before and I smile bitterly, knowing that it could be a very long time before she has calmed down enough to try and make me accept her existance again. A very long time where I would be torn apart time and time again. We exchange glances for the briefest of moments before she glares at me with as much hatred and loathing she can muster, and then she no longer exists.

I take a breath to prepare something to say to the seven girls that are left with me, and I taste smoke at the back of my mouth. It's fragrant, exotic, slightly weak, and not unfamiliar. I choose not to notice that I'm beginning to enjoy the smell.


End file.
